


Street Lights, Big Dreams, All Lookin' Pretty

by doingthemost



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alexis Rose's Queer Panic, Best Friends Stevie Budd & David Rose, Canon Compliant, David Rose Being a Good Brother, David Rose is a Good Person, David Rose is a Nice Person, F/F, M/M, Moira and Johnny are just here to have a good time, New York City, POV David Rose, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon, Stevie Budd is a Troll, Stevie Budd's Cell Phone, Twyla Sands' Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doingthemost/pseuds/doingthemost
Summary: Alexis and Twyla say they're just friends. But people who are "just friends" don't tickle each other's necks with their eyelashes – right?During one family vacation to New York, David and Patrick make a bet to answer this question and more. (David has a lot of feelings about being back in New York along the way, but that's not a big deal. We don't have to talk about that.)
Relationships: Alexis Rose & David Rose, Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands, David Rose & Twyla Sands, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd/Ruth Clancy (Mentioned)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 66
Collections: Schitt's Creek Season 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCSeason7](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCSeason7) collection. 



> Title from "Empire State of Mind." & Thank you so much to singsongsung, januarium, and sonlali for betaing this fic for me and talking me through my first David POV and David/Patrick fic! This would not exist without you.
> 
> **Original Prompt:**
> 
> 714: Moira comes to NY to do the talk show circuit, so David and Patrick leave the store to their new part time employees and fly with Twyla so that they can all spend a few days together and out on the town. David's pretty sure that Twyla and Alexis are still just friends, but Patrick is pretty sure they are more. Johnny, Moira, and Stevie also get in on the betting. Who's right? What has the loser promised? Who's on which side? Do they spend their whole week in NY paying more attention to Alexis and Twyla looking for signs than actually seeing the sights?

**Friday: 1:47 AM.**

The bedroom door creaks open, pulling David back into reality from front-stage seats and never-ending pizza at a Beyoncé concert. He groans, eyes still closed, and buries his face into the pillow. His early bird of a husband is still next to him on Alexis' sofa bed, so David knows that whatever time it happens to be right now, it's much too early for whatever is about to happen. 

"This room is closed," he mumbles. Patrick grunts some kind of noise of agreement. "Go away."

The door makes another noise, and he hears it shut. Good; they've been left alone. Except then there's a weight at the end of the sofabed, someone settling down right next to his feet. David kicks, and earns a swat to his foot. 

He's still not opening his eyes. He _refuses_. Twyla would never be so rude, so his money's on his sister, or –

"I'm sleeping here the rest of the night," Stevie hisses, and David's eyes open.

"What the fuck?" It's still dark out. When he pushes himself up, he can barely see her face. "Stevie, what's wrong?"

Patrick's getting up, too. He scrubs a hand over his face, gathering his patience. "Is it because of –"

" _Yeah_." Stevie's voice lowers, and she and Patrick seem to make significant eye contact even in the dark. 

"What's going on?" David whispers. He aims a pointed, stop-keeping-secrets look at both of them, but neither of them seem to care. 

"That bad, huh?" Patrick actually laughs then, a barely-suppressed chuckle, but before Stevie can provide the barest modicum of illumination and let David in on whatever big secret they're gossiping about together, _right in front of him_ , Alexis' voice cuts through the closed door.

"I love you guys, but can you _please_ be quiet? It's late and Twy and I are trying to get some sleep!" 

Stevie clasps a hand over her mouth, swallowing another laugh. "See what I mean?"

David frowns. "Okay. Let's ignore the fact that we're all awake _before sunrise_ , which is not going to be good for _anyone's_ under-eye circles in the morning, and focus on the fact that the two of you are keeping some kind of little _secret_ from me – which is, quite frankly, extremely _rude_." 

"David." Patrick places a placating hand on his arm, and David manages to resist the urge to shrug it off. "You really don't know what's going on?"

" _No_." David rolls his eyes up to Alexis' woefully-low ceiling. "Does it look like I know?"

"Alexis and Twyla are dating." Patrick says this so casually, without the fanfare such an announcement would typically deserve, David almost doesn't think he heard him correctly.

"They are not." David looks at Alexis' bedroom door, then over at Stevie. "She would've told me." 

"You really think so?" Stevie's face is so pale, David can see the exact arch of her eyebrow even in the dark. 

"Uh- _huh_." 

Except there have been plenty of times that Alexis has chosen to keep things from him, which is _fine_ – it's not as though he was put on this earth to helicopter-parent his sister. But he would have hoped that he would have been deemed worthy enough to know about a new relationship. 

Or maybe what's bothering him, besides the untimeliness of this discovery, is that Patrick and Stevie both seem to know more than he does. But he doesn't point that out; better to not have either of them gloat about it. 

So he sweeps his arm, pointing toward Alexis' other sofa. "It's way too late. Let's all just… get some sleep, and then we can solve this mystery in the morning once we've all managed to become _somewhat_ well-rested." 

"Not a mystery, David," Patrick says as Stevie moves over to flop onto her temporary bed. "They're dating."

David huffs, swiping his hand at Patrick's shoulder as they lie back down. "Go to bed."

  


  


  


**Friday: 7:24 AM.**

By the time David's phone alarm goes off, he's managed to regain at least a few precious hours of sleep. The evening won't go down in history as one of his best nights, however; Stevie and Patrick had _both_ snored on-and-off, and when David hadn't been cursing the fact that he'd left his earplugs at home, his mind had been turning over the potential of his sister's new relationship. 

He's well-aware that his family has always been different. Patrick's friends talk about their siblings as though they've always been their best friends, two sides of the same coin or two parallel branches on the same family tree or something, and it's always made him want to gag. But Alexis is his sister, and he's been simultaneously cursed and blessed with the endless task of keeping one eye on her, like he's watching a wayward dog. And he'd spent three years sharing a _motel room_ with his _sister_ in his _thirties_ ; if he wasn't important enough to know about such a monumental event in his wayward sister's love life, what had been the point of it all?

(Yes, he'd learned that people can be good, made amends with his family, came into his own, met and married the love of his life, blah blah blah. David hates being left out of a secret more than he cherishes all of that.) 

He snoozes his alarm twice, and Stevie launches a pillow at his face before he can manage to snooze it thrice, so they're all awake, very casually watching, as Alexis' bedroom door opens. His sister is wearing a pair of satin pyjamas that he, very sadly, recognizes from his stint as her roommate. That's par for the course, though; what startles David, his eyebrows drawing right up, is when Alexis' supposed 'girlfriend' steps out, too, wearing a tight pair of black shorts and a pastel blue long-sleeve shirt that has a scarf-wearing polar bear over her heart. 

It's such a bizarre combination – soft and cuddly on the top, almost childlike in its innocence, and low-key sexual on the bottom – that he can't even fathom what's happening in front of him as Alexis' gaze very blatantly drops down to watch Twyla walk away. Next to him, Patrick's smile is tight as he tries to get a hold of himself, nearly shaking with laughter. Stevie's not even looking anywhere within the room; she's staring out the window, feigning fascination with Alexis' fire escape.

"Wow," David says, because he can't not say _something_. Twyla's in the kitchen now, measuring out some of the coffee grounds she'd brought with them on the plane, filling Alexis' coffee pot for what David assumes is its maiden voyage. 

"What, David?" Alexis asks, just as Twyla turns on the coffee pot and crosses back over, aiming a smile in their general direction.

"Coffee will be ready soon!" Twyla bends over to pull a couple of containers out of her backpack.

David puts on a strained smile as he looks anywhere else but at his sister, who's looking at Twyla Sands' ass. "Thanks, Twyla," he says, and Patrick and Stevie add their thanks in stilted echoes, too. 

"Did you guys sleep okay out here?" Alexis asks, once Twyla's more or less out of sight again. "You didn't have to _leave_ , Stevie! I'm sure the air mattress is way comfier than that sofa." 

"You guys wouldn't shut up." Stevie accepts a mug from Twyla, who hands one to Patrick as well and then darts back over to the kitchen. Alexis belatedly moves over to help retrieve the last couple of mugs. "I don't know if you thought you were whispering, but you weren't."

Twyla passes a mug to David, and he recognizes the scent of his usual order as soon as he lifts it to his face. It tastes just like the Café Tropical, too, and he realizes with a start that Twyla had brought syrups and powders – whatever it is she needs or uses – _with_ them, on the plane, to New York.

It's sweet, Twyla's thoughtfulness and his coffee alike. Almost too sweet. He's never grown entirely comfortable with how god damned earnest she is, how she doesn't wield her niceness like a knife. He's known her for almost four years, and he still can't entirely shake the urge to see if he can make her snap. But he also doesn't think he could ever go through with it; it would be too much like kicking a puppy.

Case in point: Twyla's sitting down on the sofa next to Stevie, worry in her eyes. "I'm sorry. We should've been more thoughtful."

"Alexis was trying to _tickle_ you with her _eyelashes_." Stevie's looking at his sister now, a challenge in her eyes, and Alexis trills out an unconvincing laugh.

"That was just a little joke." Alexis's earrings chime as she shakes her head. "Just a tiny little… like, 'wouldn't it be so funny if I did this?' kind of thing." 

"They're dating," Patrick whispers to David as Stevie bites out a rebuttal and the girls settle into a debate. 

"No." David scrutinizes his sister, then Twyla. "They're not." 

"Wanna bet?" Patrick shifts his mug to his left hand, then holds his right out to David. After a moment's consideration, they shake.

"You're on."

  


  


  


**Friday: 9:42 AM.**

His mom's Good Morning America interview – the whole reason why they're all in New York to begin with – ends without too much disaster. There's only the briefest of fires to put out when his mother goes into a tangent about the fourth _Crows_ movie and begins to sing a Bosnian folk song, but somehow Robin Roberts capably manages to pull her back on track. 

Once their sweaters and coats and hats and scarves are on, Alexis shuts the door to her building behind them and they set out to his parents' hotel. As their tour guide, she takes the lead, then turns to reach for Twyla's arm and tug her up ahead of the rest. 

Stevie falls into step between David and Patrick, and the three of them take a slower pace, observing from behind as Twyla tilts her head, leaning it briefly on Alexis' shoulder. 

"I want in on the bet," Stevie says, once there's a safe distance between their groups.

"Two against one?" David scrunches up his nose. "Fine by me. It'll be even better when you guys discover that I'm right." 

Patrick gestures forward with a gloved hand, and they look up just in time to see Alexis run her fingers through Twyla's hair. "If we win, David has to livestream a song at the next open mic. We get to pick the song."

"Yes," Stevie says immediately, eyes gleaming. Ahead of them, the girls are coming up to a crosswalk, and Twyla unlinks their arms… then takes Alexis' hand. "Yes, that's exactly what it is."

David has to admit that if it were anyone else, he could see where Patrick and Stevie are coming from. It's disgusting, frankly, the way his sister is looking down at Twyla instead of at incoming traffic as they cross. Even worse, it's _unsafe_. David has never cared so much about public safety as he does right now, in this very instance, but he's willing to die on this hill now.

Still, he knows his sister. Or at least, he wants to believe he still does, even if she's living in a totally different country now. They may not share a room anymore, or even an area code, but Alexis hasn't made herself a stranger. And he'll never admit it to her, but he looks forward to her phone calls now that they aren't typically whispered demands for passports and contraband. They talk at least once a week, and she doesn't make a show of hiding her friendship with Twyla. If they were dating, Alexis would've told him by now.

"I"ll take both of you up on your childish, _juvenile_ bet." David allows smugness to settle on his face. "And if I'm right, at the next open mic _you_ have to read _Ronnie_ a poem about how much you admire her."

Patrick laughs his cockiest, shit-eating laugh. He's so lucky that David, theoretically, loves him. "Not a chance in the world that _that's_ happening, so. Fine with me." 

"Me, too." Stevie waits a beat as they round a corner, dodging other pedestrians, before she adds, "You know Twyla's been in love with Alexis since…. A long time. Right?" 

David's eyebrows knit together, and he turns his head just in time to take in Stevie's trolling grin. He frowns, thinking through his memories, but he's admittedly never truly paid all that much attention to Twyla before. She's always been around, generally speaking, like a paisley wallpaper that smiles a lot and has an oddly-close relationship with his mother, but as far as David's always been concerned, they've operated in separate worlds. 

"Since when?" 

"You really didn't know?" Patrick asks, like the traitor he is. "It's pretty obvious." 

"I don't really… spend time with Twyla." David draws his arms around himself, but it's got nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the pointed looks his supposed life partner and best friend are giving him. "We don't get along. I mean, we do, since it's Twyla and she gets along with everyone, but we..." He waves his hand. "You know." 

"You guys are very different," Patrick allows. "And that's okay. But if you think about it, and if you try to get to know her more... I think she'd be good for your sister." He brings a hand up to rub at David's shoulder through his winter coat, and David softens a little underneath his husband's touch. But then Patrick adds, "Since they're dating," and the moment's ruined. 

"We'll see." David lets a little snippiness tinge his voice as he draws his annoyance up around him like another cold-weather layer, and he looks up at the girls as they continue to lead the way towards the Washington Square station. Alexis turns her head, smiling down at Twyla, and the expression is so wrought with fondness, David has to look away.

He knows the last time he saw his sister smile at someone like that: Patrick with copious amounts of sexy, _sexy_ eyeliner, Stevie with too much caked-on makeup, and Alexis clinging to Ted's shoulders as she kissed him goodbye. 

If she's found something or someone else that makes her that happy, David would never stand in her way. He just wants to be right about it.

  


  


  


**Friday: 10:09 AM.**

Their parents are staying at The Plaza. It's a cliché, and nowhere near where David would have chosen for them, but their years in Schitt's Creek have taken their toll on their family, and none of the Roses could turn down the prospect of free lodging on _Sunrise Bay's_ dime. 

The detail of the foyer's intricate and impressive, and in a weird way, it feels like coming home. It takes him back to certain memories that he'd lodged in the corners of his mind, hoping to forget them: the barest glimpses of his parents around gilded corners, drugged and drunk at their best, harsh or indifferent at their worst. He can barely recall Alexis in their old New York estate; when he calls his memories of her to the forefront, he thinks of picking her up from airport runways, or looking in her room to find her already gone.

He gives his mother's code name at the front desk, and the staff exchange knowing smiles with one another before they call for her on the phone system and their party's directed upstairs. The elevator is golden and mirrored, almost baroque in its ornate decorations, another callback to the place he once, theoretically, thought of as his own.

It had never truly been home, though, not for any of them. He'd never felt as claustrophobic as he did within the grandeur of its vastness, the vaulted ceilings and the decorated double-tall walls, but he'd never known how to identify the feeling until much later on, in a tiny veterinarian's office. Before Schitt's Creek, David had assumed that it was perfectly normal to carry tension in his limbs and have an ever-present tightness in his throat. Before Stevie and Patrick, before everything with his family had changed, he'd almost forgotten what it was like to relax. 

He feels jumpier here than he thought he would, in this overdone testament to old New York upper society, a time capsule of eras past. But Patrick takes his hand as they step out onto his parents' floor, squeezing tightly, and David twines their fingers together like they've been doing it for his whole life – like his hand was made to hold Patrick's, even if the very thought makes him cringe. It doesn't make it any less true, or David any less glad for him.

Their eyes meet as Alexis knocks on the hotel room door, and Patrick raises his eyebrows. _You miss it?_ he seems to be asking. David shakes his head, and relishes the way Patrick's smile warms his face.

"My darlings, my sweet bébés!" His mother's voice is as loud as ever, but as she pulls him into her embrace and he rests his head against Krista, a wig he hasn't seen in ages, he finally feels like he's come back to a bit of home in this city.

  


  


  


**Friday: 1:00 PM.**

Despite David's protests, Johnny and Stevie have a quick business meeting with a few people from RMG that afternoon, and Patrick's eager to tag along and get a little insight into their business. The rest of them head down to the hotel spa together after lunch, once David's given both Patrick and Stevie the finger after they remind him to stick to a sad, deflated ending.

Thank God the trolls he spends his time with are gone. David can better observe his sister and Twyla alone this way, without their snippy little comments and interference.

There had been a couple of suspicious moments at lunch: Alexis had insisted on sitting next to Twyla, had almost gotten grumpy when Moira had monopolized Twyla's time with Jazzagal gossip, and then had calmed down when Twyla had called her _Lex_ and brought her into the conversation. They don't do anything overtly couple-y or anything that could possibly read as such, like they had when they'd been walking over to the hotel together, but David's certain that the way Alexis looks at Twyla telegraphs _I want to be with you_ and not _I'm already with you_.

The more he watches them together, the more he reluctantly agrees that Twyla could be good for his sister. Twyla seems to listen to her stories in a way that David's never been able to: the underlying horror of her misadventures doesn't seem to shock her, and she doesn't make a big fuss or act as though Alexis was ever unable to save herself (even if half the time, the only way Alexis _did_ save herself was through David's help, thank you very much). Alexis, in turn, seems to always end the stories with a promise to never do something like that again, something she only seems to say to Twyla. 

It's gross. But maybe – just maybe – it's good for Alexis. So he pushes the thought away as they separate to get changed into their spa robes, and after folding and hanging his clothing, David's the last to emerge into the all-gender waiting room. His mother's sipping tea, eyebrows up in bemusement, and as he draws closer, the reason makes itself evident.

"You have, like, the cutest lil' collarbones." But Alexis doesn't leave it at that; she tugs at Twyla's robe, opening it more at the top, and runs her fingers along Twyla's skin. "And look at all your freckles."

It's more of Twyla Sands than David has ever wanted to see. He takes a cup of cucumber-lime water and sits down on his mother's right, turning carefully in an attempt to get the girls out of his peripheral vision.

"David," his mother whispers. For once, she's managing to keep her voice at the appropriate level. "Has Alexis taken Twyla as her lover?"

He scrunches his eyes shut, horrified by the thought. "We'll talk later," he whispers back, right before the massage therapists enter.

  


  


  


**Friday: 7:33 PM.**

Dinner's at Wallsé. It was his mother's idea, and none of Stevie's grumbling could change her mind. They get seated on the strength of Moira Rose's name alone, walking in with complete disregard for the walk-ins and other guests, and his mother waves grandly at the other patrons, whether or not they were even looking in her direction. She's in her element here, just as he suspects she is in Los Angeles, but this time he's better equipped to roll with his parents' eccentricities, his mother's lust for fame, and his accompanying mortification.

David can't resist the urge to dig an elbow into Stevie's side, into the dress she borrowed from Alexis, as they make their way over to their table. It's a little black dress, the simplest thing they could find in Alexis' closet – something his sister had made _very_ clear, over and over. 

"I forget you clean up okay." 

Stevie rolls her eyes, then bites back a smile. "Thanks."

Ahead of them, Alexis is settling in next to Twyla at their table, running a hand through her hair as they converse. Twyla's body is angled towards her, rapt with attention, and then suddenly they're leaning in and David's convinced that he's about to witness his sister sucking face over dinner. But Twyla just reaches out to adjust one of Alexis' earrings, running her thumb over Alexis' ear, and Stevie lets out an audible, irritated huff. 

"If they were already dating, they'd be kissing," David mutters as they take a seat on the opposite side of the table, Patrick on his other side.

He gets two elbows in his ribs for his trouble, but it's worth it to see the constipated look of irritation on his husband's face.

  


  


  


**Friday: 11:03 PM.**

After dinner, they say goodbye to David's parents and go out for drinks. Alexis picks a bar that's lively enough to feel energizing, quiet enough to avoid overwhelm, and nowhere near the kind of trendy hotspots he used to go to See and Be Seen. It's a good choice; David feels comfortable here, tucked into a dimly-lit corner, his hand curled around a frosty rocks glass. Patrick's hip presses against his, their thighs two parallel lines under the table, his presence a gentle reminder of how far David's come since the last time he was in New York. 

The only downside is the jukebox. Someone with absolutely gauche taste puts Billy Joel on, and Patrick's on his feet before David even realizes what's happening. Twyla follows suit, scream-singing the lyrics to _Uptown Girl_ as Patrick takes her hand, spinning her under his arm. Even Stevie's mouthing the words under her breath as she takes her phone out, busying herself with whatever is on its screen.

David gives Stevie a sharp look. He's about to nosily, noisily barge his way into her private life when he catches Alexis toying with the straw in her drink, her eyes on Twyla as she and Patrick dance. There's only so much drama he can take from one person at a time, so he cuts his losses and inches closer to Alexis first.

"You and Twyla seem to have gotten close." 

"Well, duh." Alexis side-eyes him, and he has to admit she's got a point; it wasn't his sharpest opening. "She's my best friend."

"I know she's your best friend," David echoes pointedly, dropping the pitch of his voice and choking on the words in an imitation of his sister's vocal fry. She makes an indignant noise as her whole face scrunches up, and a smug smile settles on David's lips. But it doesn't last long; uncertainty is written all over Alexis' features, and as much as he enjoys teasing her, this is also the first time that he's ever noticed that his sister could be interested in women. There were stories about Alexis, when they had vaguely-overlapping social circles before Schitt's Creek, but the way she's looking at Twyla is far beyond an intoxicated one-night-stand, and way past his pay grade as a reluctant older brother. 

Nevertheless, he loves her. And if she's really having some kind of currently-undefined queer awakening, he doesn't want it to be terrible for her – and he'll be damned if someone else leads her through it instead of him.

So he leans in a little closer, and carefully chooses his words. "It's just that there seems to be..." David moves his hand in a small circle, vaguely connecting Twyla and Alexis with the motion. "I think I'm just picking up on this vibe between the two of you. And as your favourite brother, I wanted to check in." 

"That's very sweet, David, but in case you didn't know…" She rests her hands on the table and bats her eyelashes at him. "Actually, _Patrick_ 's my favourite brother?"

"As your _favourite brother_ ," he repeats, assessing her again with a pointed look. "I just wanted to say that if you want to talk about it... I would listen. And try not to give you terrible advice."

Alexis pulls her mouth to one side, then the other, before she sets it into a smile he recognizes from embassy pick-ups and clandestine FaceTime calls from underground lairs. "That's very sweet, David, thank you. But there's nothing to talk about. Twyla and I are just friends." 

"Okay." 

He waits, just in case she wants to say anything else, but then Twyla and Patrick come back to the table. David lingers long enough next to Alexis to hear Twyla say, leaning against her shoulder, "You should've danced with me, Lex."

"Next time," Alexis promises, turning her head to look into Twyla's eyes. She smiles at her, a soft thing that's far too intimate for him to witness, and David looks away. 

He raises his eyebrows, glancing over at both Patrick and Stevie, then shifts back over to give Alexis and Twyla some space. No matter who wins their bet, and no matter how he feels about Twyla, he can cut Alexis some slack for the rest of the evening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Saturday: 7:45 AM.**

It's much too early to leave the apartment and venture out into the world at large, but David didn't get the best night's sleep. Stevie had refused to sleep in the same room as Alexis and Twyla, so now David and Patrick are stuck with an annoying, yappy roommate while his sister does God-knows-what in the room next door.

"Does David always make those noises in his sleep?" Stevie asks, shrugging her hoodie on over her head. 

David freezes with his gloves halfway on. "What noises?"

"Oh, all the time." Patrick clasps his hand over David's shoulder. "Almost every night."

" _What_ noises?" David repeats. Patrick and Stevie are looking all too pleased with themselves, like a baby cherub conspiring with the grim reaper, and David won't stand for it. "What _noises_?"

Stevie reaches for her coat. "You make these little... chewing sounds." She bites lightly, over and over again; her mouth's closed at first, but then she starts smacking her lips. 

David's horrified – his eyebrows draw together, and his lips purse – and it only gets worse when Patrick starts doing it, too. "Whatever this is," he says pointedly, over the sounds of their gnashing teeth, "whatever little game you two came up with while I was showering, we're stopping it now." 

"It's not a game," Patrick deadpans. He gives David that look of his, all big eyes and an earnest, grave expression, the very faintest downturning of the corners of his mouth. "You, David, are a sleep chewer." 

"He's probably eating in his sleep," Stevie agrees. She puts a toque on her head. "Come on, let's go to this stupid meeting." 

"I no longer want to attend." David crosses his arms over his chest. "I no longer feel like a valued part of this family, and I will require apologies and many gifts before I will consider rejoining." 

Patrick wraps his hand around David's wrist, gently uncrossing his arms, then places David's hand between both of his own. David's stupid heart flutters as Patrick smiles at him, and it persists even as Patrick says, "Come on, sleep chewer. We're going to be late." 

"Fine." David shuts the apartment door gently behind them, and they find their way outside.

  


  


  


**Saturday: 8:03 AM**.

By the time they've all ordered coffee and breakfast, Patrick's obtained a standing table in the corner and David's parents have arrived at Starbucks. 

His mother's wearing oversized sunglasses despite the overcast January skies, and the long purple hair of her wig's tucked around her face like a mohair scarf. His father takes his coffee from Stevie with a buddy-buddy sort of expression, born from years of actually being business partners with David's best friend, that makes David simultaneously scrunch up his nose and feel this sort of gross, over-earnest warmth for Stevie.

"Alexis didn't want to come?" his father asks, once he's fully taken in everyone who's in attendance. "Where's Twyla?"

"We thought this would be best if we left them behind," Patrick says. It's his let's-get-to-business voice, the one that can send an inordinate amount of shivers up and down David's spine if he lets it. He endeavors to not; discussing his sister's love life with his parents is so _not_ the time.

David's mother reaches for one of the cinnamon rolls. "Haven't you noticed, John, that Alexis has spent our entire excursion making doe eyes at Twyla?"

His father raises his eyebrows. They do a series of wiggles as he considers this, almost like they're having a conversation with each other. "I guess now that I think about it..." His tone is doubtful. "But I think Alexis would've told me."

"I do, too," David interjects. 

"Alexis hoards her secrets like a little bébé dragon," his mother says loftily. "But that said... From what I've witnessed, I do believe our daughter has learned to enjoy the pleasures of the fairer sex." 

"We don't need to talk about _Alexis' pleasures_ ," David says quickly. "And people who present as masculine can be _just_ as fair, if not fairer." 

"David," Patrick says, flattening his palms together. David has to admit that his husband is showing such admirable restraint in the face of his parents' involvement here, even if he's sad to lose some of the sexy sternness. "We don't have much time before they realize something's up."

"Twyla wanted to take a break from cafés," Stevie mutters to David's father, who'd likely been just about to ask. "And Alexis wanted to stay with her." 

David's mother makes a _tsk_ sound, shaking her head. "Taking advantage of every possible moment alone."

"You really think they're already together?" his father asks, after swallowing a bite of his breakfast sandwich. 

"Yes," Patrick and Stevie say in near-unison.

"Indubitably," his mother adds.

"I don't," David says, shaking his head, his mouth pursed in a straight line. 

His father lifts his coffee cup. "Me, neither." 

"So we have a bet on the line," Patrick continues. "If they're already together and have just been keeping it a secret, David has to livestream a song at open mic. And if they're not yet together, I have to read Ronnie a poem."

"Not just any poem," Stevie interjects. "A poem about your love and admiration for her."

"What a fascinating little game." David doesn't like how pleased his mother is, or the way her eyes are glinting as she looks over at him. "Though I must say that I'm not sure what Veronica has to do with anything. But Pat –"

"We're still not doing Pat," David says.

"– My dear _Pat_ ," his mother says, "I am _on your side_!"

"I dunno, Moira. I think I'm with David." His father is almost about to say something else, but he's interrupted by a group of people who've been inching up to their table over the last couple of minutes, unnoticed during their debate. 

"Excuse me," one of them says. He looks absolutely starstruck in a way that David recognizes from his youth. "Are you _Moira Rose_?"

His mother titters. "Why yes, my dear." She spreads her arms wide, demonstrating an absolute lack of regard for the narrowness of New York interiors. "It is I."

David runs his fingers along the edge of his coffee cup, eyes raised to the ceiling. This is usually how things went, back then: the only things they ever did together were his mother's events and galas, and he'd self-medicate to numb himself enough to pretend to be the perfect son. This Starbucks is a far cry from the red carpet or the ostentatiousness of a Rose family holiday party, but the deja vu's enough for David to edge away. 

But instead of posing for photos with the rest of them as her props, or signing autographs on body parts, his mother gives them all a tight-lipped smile. "But I'm in the middle of spending time with my family," she says, and now it's time for David's eyebrows to raise. "We have a very delicate situation to discuss regarding my daughter's love life, and I shan’t be taken away from it." 

Patrick places a hand on his forearm, squeezing tightly, but David can't look at him. He can only focus on the sounds of his mother's fans, wishing her well and withdrawing, and what is unmistakably the sound of several cell phone cameras going off. 

"Back to Alexis," his mother says. When David pulls his gaze back down to earth, to his mother and father right there at this Starbucks table with them, he doesn't fully know what to say. Patrick smiles at him from across the table, though, fleeting and brief and just for him, before he gets them all back on track.

  


  


  


**Saturday: 11:48AM.**

"Babe, are you cold?"

They're at the Top of the Rock, and Stevie nudges David just in time for him to see his sister move in behind Twyla, then rest her chin on top of Twyla's head. Alexis wraps her arms around Twyla's shoulders, nuzzling their faces together, and David screws his face up.

He's far enough away from them to speak frankly to the rest of the group. "They're not dating," he says, but his mother fixes him with a pitying stare.

"David, darling, you mustn't be so obtuse." She sweeps her arm, gesturing to Alexis and Twyla. "Those sweet chickadees are in love, and all of you _doubters_ are simply too ignorant to see it!"

His father's eyebrows go up. "I don't know, Moira. Sometimes girls are... you know." 

"Girls are what?" Stevie deadpans, eyes bright. "What do you mean, Mr. Rose?"

"You know." His father nods in the girls' direction, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he seems to debate his next words. "They're all... touchy-feely. Girls being girls. David, don't you know what I mean?"

"Oh, I want no part of _that_." 

His father spreads his arms open, holding his hands palms out. "I just don't... you know. I don't want to _assume_ that Alexis..." He makes a vague gesture that David wants to pretend he never saw. "That she's..."

"Queer," David says. "It's okay. You can say it."

"Queer," his father tries, like he's expecting the word to have a sour taste. "Yes. That Alexis is queer, too."

David glances over at his sister again, noticing how she's nearly a head taller than Twyla in her heeled boots. He has to admit, though he'll never do so out loud, that they do look reasonably cute together. 

"They say it might be genetic," David adds lightly with a smile. His father's discomfort is too good to let lie. "Maybe we both got it from you, Dad."

"Oh, I'm not –" His father makes another uncomfortable gesture. "Queer."

"Not that there's anything _wrong_ with being queer," his mother adds beatifically. "Of course. You know, looking upon this ragtag gang of assorted misfits, it does strike me, John, that we and Stevie are indeed the heterosexual outliers here." 

Stevie coughs, and David fixes her with a narrow-eyed look. He's about to say something else, but then Patrick tugs at his arm.

"David," Patrick says. He gives his in-laws an apologetic smile. "Let's go look at Central Park."

"Fine." He narrows his eyes at Stevie, but lets Patrick pull him away. And while the view may be clichéd, it's a lot nicer with his husband next to him.

  


  


  


**Saturday: 5:52 PM.**

Enough is enough. David isn't sure what bothers him more: the fact that Alexis has spent _way_ too much time in the bathroom, getting ready for dinner, or how incomprehensibly smug Patrick and Stevie are being. 

He slides into the bathroom next to her, the two of them fitting side-by-side somehow even though Alexis' New York bathroom is tinier than the one they'd shared at the motel. She makes a prolonged, indignant noise at his presence, but she scoots over and they fall into step around each other like they'd never left the Rosebud.

"That's a very nice dress you're wearing," David says after a moment, once he's completed an initial scrutiny of his hair. "Very..." He wrinkles his nose. "Sheer. An interesting choice for dinner with one's family, and one's..." She backhands his shoulder, and he smirks. "Best friend." 

" _David_." 

He's trying not to pay attention to her – it truly is much too sheer for his elder-brother eyes – but in the corner of his peripheral vision, he can vaguely see her running a hand down the front of her dress, smoothing out a wrinkle.

" _Alexis_ ," he returns. Satisfied with his hair, he closes the bathroom door and turns to face her, leaning his hip against the counter. "Please. Can we, like, talk to each other like we respect one another?"

She looks horrified by the very thought of it. In truth, deep down, so is he – but he has to do what he has to do. "What're you talking about?"

"You have a crush on Twyla." This time, he says what's on his mind without fanfare, without beating around the bush. 

Her eyes roll skyward, and her arms lift to cross against her chest. She looks vulnerable all of a sudden, protecting herself from whatever else he's about to say, and suddenly he doesn't need to hear her confirm it out loud. 

"It's okay," David adds quickly. He doesn't reach out to touch her – they aren't _those_ kinds of siblings – but he does soften his voice as he adds, "You can talk to me about it." 

Alexis finally looks back at him, once she's managed to gather some of that defiance he knows all too well. "I mean, not that it's _any_ of your _business_ , but yes. I do have a... _tiny_ lil' crush on Twy."

"Okay." 

He's in the middle of second-guessing what he wants to say next but then she's talking again, picking up steam with each word she says, and he realizes that she's probably been bottling all of this up inside and it's all bursting out. 

"It's just that, like... I mean, after everything with Ted, I just – she's my _best friend_ , David, and I lost him already. I can't lose _her_ , too." She lets go of herself long enough to gesture wildly with her wrists, her expression pained, before she corrals her arms back against her. "I would – I mean, I would literally _die_ if I did." 

He doesn't even point out that her so-called imminent death is impossible; he's too busy grappling with how irritating it is to shoulder someone's pain and to feel it for them, too, to need so badly for his sister to work this out. And he knows how horrible it is, to want and to dream and to yearn for someone, and how frightening it is to stand on the edge of the unknown and to jump right in. But his sister's always been the braver one out of the two of them, the one who's more willing to risk it all. Seeing her like this, grappling with her courage? It hurts him more than he can say. 

"Okay," he says after a moment. "Breaths, okay? Everything's going to be fine." 

"How is this going to be _fine_ , David?" She's doing it, though, her collarbone rising and falling as she forces herself to follow his gestures and breathe, even if she's still complaining. It's a start. "She doesn't – she doesn't _like_ me like that." 

David's eyebrows lift. "Twyla Sands?" he asks. "Twyla Sands, the girl who was ready to join a cult for you, the girl who's been hanging all over you ever since she got here, sending literal heart eyes in your direction? That Twyla Sands? You – you don't think she _likes_ you like that?"

" _Ugh_ , David." But Alexis is smiling now, so he considers it a win. "I don't _know_. Maybe she does."

"I think she does," David says firmly. He places a hand gingerly on her shoulder, then regrets it as soon as it happens and draws it back. "You just need to... I dunno. Find it in yourself to take the next step."

"But why do _I_ have to?" 

It's a fair question, irritatingly enough, and he doesn't have a rebuttal for it besides a vague suspicion. "Maybe she doesn't know you're interested in women." He presses his lips together, considering, before he adds, "Which, by the way, we've never talked about." 

"I don't have to tell you _everything_ , David," she says lightly. They're no stranger to dissecting each other's love lives, though, even if it's been a while since they've done it in detail, so he raises his eyebrows at her and she shrugs a shoulder. "And, I don't know. I guess I'm still kind of... figuring it out."

"But you definitely are, right?" Even if he and Twyla aren't friends, David doesn't want to be responsible for an accidental queer-baiting. "At least – you're _interested_ in Twyla?"

Alexis licks her lips, and he scrunches his eyes shut, tilting his head up to the ceiling as though the gesture could knock that image out of the back of his head and down into hell where it belongs. "Yes. Definitely."

"Okay." He reluctantly brings his head back down and meets her eyes again. He may have won the bet, but he can't take as much pleasure in his victory as he'd like to while his sister's so anxious. "Then let's figure out how to get you guys together."

  


  


  


**Saturday: 9:25 PM.**

Once dinner's done and they're back on the New York City sidewalks, David grabs Patrick's hand and pulls him in the opposite direction of the group. "We'll meet you guys at home," he says, and Alexis gives him a little wave and smile. Stevie, on the other hand, looks like she's dreading an evening spent primarily with Twyla and Alexis, but David can't help her with that. They may be there with his entire family, but that doesn't mean he can't steal his husband away for a night.

"Where are we going?" Patrick asks once they're all alone. He turns to face David, tilting his head and looking up at him with trusting eyes. He smiles, soft and gentle, and David forgets all about his plans in favour of kissing his husband. 

It's the West Village, so no one gives a shit that there are two guys making out outside; there are other things they're focusing on. David wraps his arms around Patrick's waist, pulling him closer as someone shouts at them to _get the fuck outta the middle of the sidewalk_ , then laughs when Patrick starts laughing. 

"Welcome to New York," David says. He leans his forehead against Patrick's, then takes a deep breath. He's been thinking about doing this ever since they touched ground at JFK, but he was half-convinced he'd chicken out before he actually hears the words coming out of his mouth: "I was thinking I could show you somewhere. Um, where my gallery was. And where I used to live."

Patrick's eyebrows raise, but that's where his reaction starts and ends. David loves him for it, loves that he's not making this a big deal. "If you'd like to do that, sure. I'd love to see them." 

"Okay." David lets go of Patrick's waist, then rubs his hands up and down his husband's arms, squeezing through his coat. "Let's go."

  


  


David calls them a cab, and they're exiting it and stepping out into Chelsea before he even recognizes that they're there. It's a weird deja vu; four years is a lifetime in New York, and the corner's transformed since he was last here, but he can still recognize buildings and fire escapes, and how the new tenants have evolved the storefronts he's familiar with. 

Patrick takes him by the hand as they walk, and David points out details – the storefront that used to be a dry cleaners, the bodega he used to stop at when he'd given up on quitting cigarettes – as they approach his old gallery space. It's inhabited by a painters' collective now, and David scoffs as he tilts his head, trying to see around the window hangings and catch a glimpse of the art on display. He's not impressed by what he _can_ see, and it gives him a little bit of smugness even as he remembers, looking down into Patrick's face, at his steady brown eyes, that none of it fucking matters anymore. 

"This is it," he says needlessly, unceremoniously, feigning nonchalance. "I just – I just wanted you to see it." 

Patrick smiles. David can't tell what he's thinking, but he knows what he doesn't see on his husband's face: pity. The thought alone strengthens David, and he squares his shoulders as Patrick leans up for a light, lingering kiss. "Thank you for taking me here, David." 

"Thank you for coming with me, Patrick."

  


  


David's old apartment building is a few blocks away from the gallery, and he points out the windows that once belonged to him when they're standing below them. Patrick insists on getting a hot dog despite David's protests, and he eats it mid-walk, holding David's hand and talking with his mouth full. It's entirely irritating, and David's never loved him more.

"So," he says, once they're at Hudson River Park. He hasn't been here in a long while; it was never one of his usual haunts, but something about the water and how grounded it makes him feel reminds him of his husband. It feels right, being here with him. "I talked to Alexis earlier."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." David's full of sentimentality, so he only lets 85% of his smugness into his voice. "She and Twyla aren't dating yet."

"Fuck." Patrick rolls his lips together, shaking his head, and David laughs as he nudges their shoulders together. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, she could've been lying? But I would have known if she was." 

"Fuck," Patrick says again. "I can't believe I have to write Ronnie a _poem_."

David nearly giggles with glee. "It better be a good one. She'll hate it if it sucks." 

Patrick rolls his eyes, but he's smiling as he changes the subject. "So are they gonna... I mean, what's stopping them?"

David shakes his head, pulling his lips to one side. He gets it, really, knows that fear so well that it was once a part of every decision he made and every word he said, but he wants so badly for his sister to be okay that he doesn't entirely know how to handle it: how hard he should push, how little he should meddle. 

"She doesn't want to lose her," he says simply, and Patrick sighs next to him.

"Have you talked to Twyla about it?" 

"No. No. Definitely not."

Patrick turns, then places a hand on David's forearm. "Maybe you should. Since Alexis is your sister." 

"She's your sister now, too," David returns, primly. "Or is that only a claim you uphold when my dignity's at stake?" 

Patrick laughs, but he doesn't show quite as much mirth in David's suffering as he typically would. That unsettles David, makes him huff a little and shake his head. He's got a point, even if David doesn't want to admit it. Despite the two-person band that Patrick and Twyla have formed back home, performing once a month together at the Rose Apothecary open mics, this probably should come from David.

"Fine," he says, before Patrick even has a chance to say anything else. It's horribly unfair and ridiculously rude, how Patrick can get him to do something he really, truly would prefer to avoid. "I'll talk to her. But only because Ronnie's going to kill you."

"Deal." 

Patrick lets go of David's forearm, then stretches his arm across the back of the bench so David can lean into him. He loves the familiar press of Patrick's cheek against his own, the stubble he can feel and the clean, wholesome smell of his husband. He thinks about other nights like this in this city, drunk or high and alone or not, a persistent ache in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't dull no matter how hard he tried. It all pales in comparison to the simplicity of their life together now.

The most annoying thing about the whole situation, though, and about his whole life leading up to this moment with Patrick, his hand on Patrick's thigh and Patrick's breathing steady and even next to him? Even if he had known what he'd been looking for back then, David doesn't think he'd been ready for it. He'd needed to fall in order to realize how to stand back up. 

"Patrick," he says into the cool, crisp air of the city. The syllables echo in his ear, fill him up and imbue him with the warmth his husband has brought to his life. "I love you." 

"I love you, too." Patrick tightens his arm around David, then tilts David's chin up with his other hand. The kiss, gentle and easy and familiar, soothes David's thoughts, and he leans into the knowledge that this will be theirs, forever, no matter where they go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sunday: 8:29 AM.**

"Hi, David!" 

"Morning, Twyla." He keeps his voice dry and quiet, hoping she'll pick up on the vibe and the fact that it's way too early. But the force of her brightness, how strongly she seems to attack the morning, fills the room like the sunshine streaming in through the window and assaults his grogginess as she takes a seat at Alexis' tiny little kitchen table. 

He nods towards the coffee pot she'd filled earlier that morning, when she'd first gotten up, and to the mug in his hands. "Have you already had some?"

She shakes her head, smiling. "Oh, no! Not yet. I thought I'd wait and make sure everyone else got some, first." 

He's not used to this, and the newness of it makes his forehead wrinkle. He loves his husband, but Patrick is also a troll who'll leave coffee dregs in their own coffee pot just to see David's eyebrows knit together in irritation. He doesn't even want to think about Stevie's knack for needling him, coffee-related or otherwise. 

"You should have some," he says. "Someone else can make more." After a moment's consideration, he magnanimously adds, "So that you can have a break from..." He draws an invisible circle with his hand, aiming it at the coffee pot. 

The spread of her smile is sudden and broad, seemingly irrepressible, stunning enough to blind. "Okay," she says, just like that, like she'd been waiting for permission to take something for herself. "Sure." 

He'd always thought that Twyla's perennial morning chipperness, so often witnessed from her in the café, had just been part of the job, something she put on for every customer that walked in. But they're not at work; she's not behind a counter, and he's not a guest. It's all very strange, and vaguely irritating – and reluctantly, grudgingly, he solidifies his theory that Twyla would be really good for his sister. 

David waits until she's sat back down in front of him with her own mug of coffee before he speaks again. "So," he says, drawing out the word.

"Yes, David?" Twyla leans forward, like she's never heard something as exciting as what David hasn't even said yet. It reminds him of his sister's irrepressible energy, and he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling before he reminds himself that being a good brother doesn't just mean extraditing his sister from international coups and crime syndicates. He has to – no, he _wants_ to – help her find happiness, too. 

He doesn't entirely know how to read Twyla, though, or how to approach this delicate conversation topic. He may have been overly harsh the other day; they do get along. It's just that they aren't necessarily friends, even if he'd like to think they're on decent terms, but their conversations had admittedly increased in frequency once his sister had left Schitt's Creek: whenever he'd go to the café or she'd go to the store, or whenever she and Patrick would rehearse for their little duets together, they'd find themselves talking. 

Sometimes it'd be about something as blasé as the weather; sometimes it'd be about business, and how to attract more pedestrians and out-of-towners to their corner. More often than not, though, they'd talk about Alexis, both of them looking for his faraway sister in each other. Maybe that's a good enough place to start.

"So," he says again. He glances to the side, making sure that no one's coming over to this side of the apartment, then leans in towards her and lowers his voice. "You and Alexis... It must be good to see her again." 

This is nothing new; they talk about Alexis all the time. But he's never seen Twyla's edge-to-edge smile soften like it does now, the way she ducks her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He's suddenly so reminded of his sister that his jaded, cynical heart contracts in his chest. 

"It is," Twyla says finally, once she's lifted her gaze back up to meet David's. "I really missed her, you know? I'm sure you did, too."

"Yeah." He can't help but wrinkle his nose, even as his traitorous mouth starts to smile. "But something's telling me that maybe you've been missing her in a different kind of way?"

Now it's Twyla's turn to look back over at the other side of Alexis' small apartment. She bites her lip, seemingly unsure, and David almost feels bad about the deer-in-the-headlights look she's giving him now. On a whisper, she says, "Is it that obvious?"

"Yes." David takes another sip of his coffee. "Very obvious." 

"Oh." Twyla tilts her head, considering this. "Did you tell anyone?"

David waves a hand airily in the vague direction of Patrick and Stevie. "They told me." 

"Oh," she says again. Her hands curl around her mug and hold it tightly. "Oh." 

"Yeah." He studies her for a moment, considering his approach, before he decides to soften it even further, in a way he's only done once or twice in his life, mostly on behalf of his sister. "But... I think that if you were to do something? To maybe... ask her out, or to tell her how you feel? I think that Alexis would really like that." 

Twyla's eyes are huge, and David feels the tiniest bit of guilt at betraying his sister's confidence, but he simply cannot exist in this apartment with the pair of them pretending that they're not in love with each other. Sometimes, drastic circumstances call for drastic measures. 

"You really think she would?" Twyla takes a deep breath, and her gaze drops down to her cooling coffee. "Alexis is always so bold. Whenever she wants something, she goes after it." She smiles down at the tabletop, at her mug, anywhere else but up at David. "It's something I've always really admired about her. I guess I always figured that if she wanted something to happen between us... she would have done something." 

"Yes," David allows. "And it's gotten her into more trouble than it's worth, including the cross-fire of _several_ accidental bank robberies in Zurich, so I personally think that trait of hers is a little overrated?" He cuts himself off then, though, pressing his lips together, and tries to remind himself why he's here, why he's having this conversation with Twyla Sands. 

"But – Twyla, you know she's not like that when it's about something like this. She doesn't barrel right into things when it's about..." David pauses, thinking through his words, before he pulls a face. "People she loves." 

Twyla sucks in a breath, and her eyes grow comically big – bigger than he'd thought was possible. "You're sure? But she's never – I'd wondered, but she hasn't –"

"Trust me," David says, even though he knows he's never asked her to before. When she looks back up at him, he adds, "She loves you. She's just..." He shrugs one shoulder, wiggling his head. "She's scared. After everything with Ted... I don't think she realized she could, you know. Have that again with someone, or want to even have it with someone in the first place. And she doesn't want to lose you."

"I don't want that, either." Twyla seems to wordlessly bolster herself, though, right in front of him: her shoulders square, and her jaw sets like he's just given her marching orders and a war mission. Once again, he's reminded of his sister, and his nose wrinkles in response to how disgustingly well-suited they really just might be for each other. "Okay. I think I can do this."

"Good." David's surprised to realize just how much relief he feels, and it's not just the knowledge that his personal nightmare will be over soon. His sister deserves to have what he has with Patrick, and for the first time, he understands why Alexis had gravitated towards Twyla when they'd first been dumped in Schitt's Creek, like he had with Stevie. 

He's a regular matchmaker now, or something, even if he's going to very swiftly retire once his sister and Twyla are finally together. "And you better do it today. Before we fly back tomorrow." 

Twyla smiles. "I will."

"Good."

He takes another sip of his coffee, wincing at how much it's cooled during their conversation, and draws back from the table, intent on replenishing it with hot coffee from the pot, but suddenly Twyla's standing up, too. 

"Can I hug you, David?" 

She holds her arms out, and he's almost about to say no before his feet move him forward and they're suddenly hugging before his mind can talk him out of it. It's over quickly, thank god, and David retrieves the coffee pot for both of them. The smile she gives him once he fills her mug is, once again, bright enough to warm up the room.

  


  


  


**Sunday: 11:42 AM.**

There's a car outside Balthazar, full of his parents' suitcases and wig boxes. Their flight back to Los Angeles is later that afternoon, thanks to his mother's schedule, but this time he's not indifferent to their departure, perched in the corner of their grand estate with his nose buried in his phone. 

This time, his mother squeezes him tightly, holding him close enough for her wig to tickle his nose, and he holds on for dear life, as though every second that passes can make up for every year that they didn't do this. This time, he can see tears in his father's eyes as he makes the rounds to hug and say goodbye to them all. This time, Alexis audibly sniffles as she draws back from their parents' embraces, and doesn't bother to hide how she wipes at her face. 

"Good riddance," David jokes, once their car pulls away from the curb. His eyes are wet too, behind his sunglasses, but he'll be damned if they ever know it. Patrick clasps him on the arm like the bastard he is, and David leans against his husband's solid steadiness, squeezing his eyes shut until he feels almost normal again.

He never thought he'd ever miss his parents this much, and even at his age, twenty-nine and many years removed, it hurts enough for him to almost regret ever letting them back into his heart. But then he thinks about his mother cupping his face and whispering in his ear to keep him updated about Alexis' love life, and the way his father had sounded when he'd said he was proud of him, and he doesn't think he'd trade their story for anything in the world.

  


  


  


**Sunday: 1:32 PM.**

"Okay." Stevie places her phone on Alexis' kitchen table in front of David and Patrick, screen up, so they can both read: _Google Voice_ , then some gibberish about phone numbers. "Here's the plan, guys." 

Patrick's bending over, nodding, but David presses his lips together, laying his palms flat on the tabletop. "I don't know what this is trying to tell me, Stevie."

"It's a fake number." Stevie nods in the direction of Alexis' living room, where they'd left his sister alone with Twyla. "I'm gonna text Twyla with it, and pretend to be Mutt with a new number."

David scrolls through the screen, then looks back up at Stevie. "And what is that going to accomplish, exactly?"

"As Mutt, I'm going to tell her that I wish we hadn't broken up." Stevie's eyes are gleaming with unbridled mischief; she looks more alive than David's ever seen her, and it's slightly terrifying. "And that I want us to get back together, and that I hope she's not in love with someone else. But if she _is_ , that she should tell whoever it is how she feels."

Patrick smothers a laugh. "That last part might be a little heavy-handed."

"Uh-huh, you think?" David plucks the phone off the top of the table, then scrolls through the screen. It looks like Stevie's even already set up a caller ID, although neither of them are in any way prepared to feign Mutt's voice in case Twyla calls the number. "This is more effort than I've ever seen you put into anything, Stevie."

"Fuck off." Stevie reaches for her phone, but David's feeling charitable and doesn't hold it too far out of reach. "I just – aren't you tired of their bullshit already?"

"Yes. Very much so." But David thinks about the anxious worry on Alexis' face when he'd talked to her the night before, and the open yearning he'd seen on Twyla's earlier that morning. "But it just might... I don't know. I think they're really close to figuring it out. And maybe we should... give them that space."

"Really?" Stevie looks like she's about to say something else, but Patrick's moving one arm around David's shoulders and kissing his cheek.

"David's gone soft," Patrick informs Stevie very matter-of-factly, ignoring David's head-shaking. "Marriage has made him weak."

"Gross." Stevie reluctantly pockets her phone. "But fine."

Suddenly, Alexis' voice breaks through the brief silence that had settled, carrying over from the other side of the apartment. "Look, babe, I don't, like – _expect_ anything? But – I just – I thought you should know that –"

David's up within seconds, creeping as close to the wall corner as he can. Alexis' apartment isn't huge, and he doesn't want to be spotted, but if they're having the conversation he thinks they are...

"It's okay," Twyla says. Her voice isn't as loud as his sister's; David's straining to hear as much as he can. "I know, Alexis. And I – I've been in love with you for years. You know that, right?"

" _Years_ ," Patrick whispers.

"Duh," Stevie says under her breath. "You have eyes. You didn't know?"

"Shut the fuck up," David hisses over his shoulder at them both. "My sister's baring her soul, and that is –'' He blinks rapidly, irritated to find that he's going teary. "That is _very_ hard for us to do."

From the other room, he can hear Alexis still: "I wish I'd known sooner. I wish I'd said something sooner. Twy, I'm so sorry."

"Lex," Twyla says, almost disbelievingly. David wishes they were closer, eavesdropping from Alexis' room or something; he wants to watch their faces, wants to ensure that his sister's heart isn't about to be broken. But then Twyla says, "You have nothing to be sorry for," and there's a long silence that follows.

"Are they kissing?" Stevie asks, poking David insistently on the shoulder.

"How am _I_ supposed to know?" 

Patrick's tapping him now, too, on his other shoulder. "You're up in the front."

"I've been wanting to do that for so long," Alexis says suddenly. She laughs, clear and bright, and the sound of her happiness is, embarrassingly, like a balm to David's soul. "And now I get to do that all the time."

"Whenever you want," Twyla says. "Any time." 

There's another prolonged silence, and David, eyebrows raised, turns to face Patrick and Stevie. "Okay, so... I guess we all now live in this kitchen."

"Yeah," Patrick says, but he's smiling. "I guess so."

  


  


  


**Sunday: 2:56 PM.**

Their flights are early Monday morning and the weather's growing worse outside, so the rest of their plans in the city are relatively low key: microwave popcorn and Interflix, once they're able to actually settle on something to watch. 

"Part of the joy of streaming is all of the choices," Alexis points out. 

It's the same kind of voice she used to use when they were younger and she was arguing her case with Adelina, and he smothers a smile. "Sounds like someone is trying to put a _pubic relations_ spin on what is, in actuality, a frustrating experience." 

Twyla, next to his sister, grins and reaches for her hand, then sandwiches it between both of hers. "Hey, Alexis is a great _pub_ licist." 

"Nice," Patrick says. By the look on Alexis' face, he seems to have cut her off from expressing a very pleased sort of objection. "Sarcasm and trolling both seem to be Rose family love languages, so you'll fit right in."

"I don't know." Twyla glances at Alexis, who smiles and leans her forehead against Twyla's temple. "I prefer to just sprinkle it in every now and then, so it's a pleasant surprise." 

Stevie pulls out her phone, then glances at its screen. "Trust me," she says, head down and focused. "Twyla can burn with the best of them."

"Not like David," Twyla demurs, then winks at David when he meets her eyes. "I can't keep up with him."

He isn't necessarily a believer in flattery as a means to an end, but he suddenly can't remember why he ever thought they didn't get along. "Wow. Thanks, Twyla." 

Alexis looks like her heart's about to melt as she watches them. "By the way, Twy's going to extend her flight and leave on Wednesday instead of tomorrow. We were thinking we could use a few nights alone."

"Gross," David says, screwing his face up. "I mean, good for you, but – gross."

"Better then than tonight," Patrick points out, through his laughter. "While we're all here." 

Suddenly Stevie abruptly stands up and nods towards the door. "I'm gonna head out," she says, pulling on a sweatshirt. "Be back later."

"Wait." David's up now, too. He isn't sure what's horrifying him more: the prospect of abandonment, so that he and Patrick will now be left to watch a potentially-incorrect movie with his sister and her now-girlfriend, or the betrayal that's implied by Stevie's sudden departure. 

"Where are you going?" he says sharply. "And who are you going _with_? I swear to god, if Jake is somehow in this city, _Pony_ –"

Stevie makes a disgusted noise, one that she's undoubtedly picked up from him. It'd be sweet if he wasn't so focused on her subterfuge. "It's not Jake." Her eyes slide over to Twyla, who beams at her and nods encouragement. "I'm just... meeting a co-worker again."

"Ruth?" Patrick asks, and David's eyebrows skyrocket up as Stevie shoots a self-conscious look in his direction, then nods.

Alexis claps her hands. "Yay, Stevie! I'm so excited for you!"

"Ruth?" David says over his sister's voice. He knows about Ruth, but judging from the way everyone else is reacting, he isn't sure that he _knows_ about Ruth, and the sudden whiplash of discovering that he's been left out in the cold on yet another clandestine lady love affair is enough for him to gesture broadly with both arms. "You and Ruth are a _thing_?"

"Not – yet." Stevie's looking anywhere but him as she tugs her coat on. "It's not a big deal." 

"Not a big deal," David echoes. " _Not a big deal_. Why doesn't anyone _tell_ me about these things?"

Patrick stands up, then gently eases David back down onto the couch with firm, kneading squeezes of his hands on David's shoulders. "I think this is why they don't tell you," he says, and David has to admit he has a point.


End file.
